Was it butane or propane, Gaz
or Trangia? I can never rembember
that kind of detail. I do recall
the air heat-wavering like water
above the stove, the ring
of neat blue petals splaying so
compliantly beneath the kettle
and how it had been an uphill struggle
to sleep: someone tearing long strips
from the dark with their snoring,
cars returning late, and the sloping pitch,
the yaw of the ground rolling us together
as if all night rounding a corner at speed.
— Patrick Brandon
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